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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400073">dog days are over</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/awakeanddreaming/pseuds/awakeanddreaming'>awakeanddreaming</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Figure Skating RPF, Men's Hockey RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Dogs, F/M, meet cute</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 05:53:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400073</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/awakeanddreaming/pseuds/awakeanddreaming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He nods. His head moves all on its own. Years later he still won’t be able to say why he nodded. He won’t be able to tell you why he didn’t put two and two together and tell this beautiful woman that she actually wants the doggy daycare across the street. In the end he chooses not to question it, instead he just nods and smiles at her. “Yes, we have room for one more dog.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Morgan Rielly/Tessa Virtue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! Well, it's been quite a bit since I've been able to focus enough to get words down but this cute little idea inspired me (hopefully I can take some of this momentum back to some unfinished works). </p>
<p>I know this pairing won't be everyone's cup of tea, and don't think this means I have ditched writing for VM. I just found seeing Tessa and Morgan together too cute and fuzzy feeling not to try and write something equally cute and fuzzy feeling. </p>
<p>This was inspired by a cute accidental doggy daycare reddit that someone shared with me the other night and I thought, "Oh this would make such an adorable meet cute!" So here we are. </p>
<p>Let me know what you think! And thank you to all those who helped me kick my butt into gear and actually write something for the first time in weeks.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s raining and Samson is cowering under the table, his big fluffy body whimpering and shaking as thunder cracks outside. Tessa has a choreography session to get to in an hour and she can’t bring him with her -- she’s tried in the past to have her big loveable goldendoodle with her at the studio but he is constantly underfoot and whines when he isn’t getting enough love. She also can’t leave him here either, scared and alone in her apartment while it storms outside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s already called three doggy daycares in the area but none of them have had any space on such short notice and she’s running out of time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line is crackly and out of breath like the speaker ran to the phone. After three attempts that went to voicemail, she’s finally gotten a hold of the last doggy day care close enough for her to be able to drop Samson off and still make it to the studio on time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi!” She tries to smile through the phone, making her voice sound as perky and pleasant as possible, even as she frowns seeing her normally happy baby scared and hiding under her dining table. She’s had Samson for about a year, he was almost two when she adopted him from the Toronto Humane Society. His previous owner had suffered a heart attack and was moved into a care home. She picked him immediately, even though he jumped up excitedly, paws on her belly, nearly knocking her flat on her back. His tail thumped against the side of the small room they had him in as he happily licked her face. And she knew right then, he was hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tessa had always wanted a dog. Had always stopped to pet any she saw on the street, but her career as a dancer had made it nearly impossible for her to have enough time for a pet. She was constantly rehearsing, and if she wasn’t rehearsing she was travelling -- performing all over North America. When she retired from performing (repeated stress injuries forcing her to retire younger than many of her peers) she decided it was finally time to get herself a canine companion. She’s had Samson in what she called doggy college for a few months and he’s the most well behaved pup she knows who loves all people, but the poor thing has always been terrified of storms no matter what she’s done to help him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have any space available for today?” She asks, as she watches Sam peak his head out from under the table, his head cocked and ears twitching at her in question, his eyes looking so sad and pathetic. “For my dog Samson? He’s a three year old goldendoodle.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We usually fill up by ten,” the voice on the other end says. “If you can get him here before then we may still have space.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay thank you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tessa hangs up, heading over to Samson. Squatting down on the floor in front of him she scratches him behind the ear. “Alright buddy,” she says softly. “Are you ready to go? You’re going to go to daycare and have the best day while mommy goes to work.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gives her boy a kiss on the head before standing up and getting ready to head out into the rain -- which she knows will be a less than fun experience. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey buddy.” Morgan smiles as Henrietta licks his hand. He reaches into his top desk drawer to pull out a treat to give the little wiener dog, who waits excitedly with her tail swishing across the floor. “Is this what you want girl? Paw,” he says, offering his hand out to the dog, who obliges by placing her little paw in his hand. He gives her the treat and gives her a quick pat on the head before turning back to the article he has up on his computer, ready to begin his first round of edits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Henrietta gives one last wag of her tail before heading back across the room to Rachel’s desk. “Is Mo spoiling you again?” He hears Rachel coo to her dog. “Mo, stop using treats to bribe all the dogs to like you,” she calls to him from her desk, though the joking tone in her voice is unmistakable and she barely holds down her laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morgan is the only one in their six person newsroom who doesn’t have a dog of his own, at least not here in Toronto. His baby, Maggie, lives back at home in Vancouver with his parents. They got her when he was in his last year of high school and she’s been in the family nine years now. She continues to be his favourite part of going back home to visit, though he loves to hang out with his mom, too. He misses her terribly but his apartment here doesn’t allow pets -- not that he’d ever want to replace Maggie anyways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The newsroom allows dogs, they even keep water and food dishes tucked away next to the door for any office pups, so more often than not when his colleagues are in the newsroom they will have their dogs with them unless they know they’ll be in and out doing interviews all day. Morgan tries not to feel left out by this but it does make him miss Maggie all that much more. So sue him for having a bag of treats in his desk to get him some extra doggy love. A lot of days he could use it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as he gets through his first paragraph, Pepper, his editor Sheldon’s black lab, trots out of his office and over to Morgan’s desk. Morgan pets her behind the ear and offers her a treat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh! Rielly,” Sheldon calls as he walks out of his office. “Stop spoiling her. She’s going to love you more than me soon!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” Morgan jokes, scratching the top of the lab's head, then running his hand over her silky black coat. “She deserves to be spoiled, she’s such a good dog.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah.” Sheldon shakes his head with an exasperated smile. “Good job, by the way,” he says as he walks over to the small kitchenette, grabbing the half empty pot of coffee and pouring it into his Maple Leafs mug. “Your article about trade deadlines was really good.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He and Sheldon are just finishing up doing a briefing on his next player profile when the door chimes. There is a half wall that Rachel has put several ever growing potted plants on (because the direct sunlight from the big window next to the door), their various leaves filling the empty space or climbing down the wall itself, blocking most of the newsroom from the door and consequently also blocks the view of anyone at the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” he hears a female voice call out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morgan gets up to go see who it is. Rachel is deep in editing mode, Henrietta curled at her feet, Tavares and Matthews are both out conducting interviews and Gillian is on the phone, leaving him the only one available once Sheldon retreats to his office. As Morgan heads around the wall to see who has come to visit them (expecting it to be a delivery person of some sort), both Pepper and Gillian’s dog Hamburger follow him into the entryway, also curious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s met at the door by a woman, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties, her hair damp against her cheeks from the rain outside. She’s kneeling next to the most beautiful fluffy, caramel coloured dog, drying off his damp fur with her scarf. She looks up at him as he rounds the corner and he’s met with the most piercing green eyes. She smiles at him and it nearly bowls him over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, hi.” She gives the dog one last once over with the scarf. “Sorry,” she shakes her head as she stands. “He really hates the rain.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morgan can’t seem to do anything but nod dumbly, struck by this woman before him. The dog looks up at him, head cocked, as if he’s assessing him. The dog seems to be asking himself whether this tall guy, in jeans and a Nike sweatshirt, with the scruffy beard and two dogs peeking out from behind his legs is to be trusted. He swears the dog nods in approval before nuzzling further into his owners side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Tess,” the woman holds out her hand for him to shake, and he thanks whatever gods are looking over him that his body reacts and he steps forward and takes her hand in his. It’s delicate in his grasp and clammy from rain, though. “This is Samson,” the woman says, nodding her head toward her dog, who by the looks of him is a large goldendoodle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” he eventually manages to say back, holding onto her hand for longer than is probably acceptable. He doesn’t really want to let go. He has no idea who she is, or why she is her but he’s afraid that if he lets go of her hand she will disappear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulls at a stray hand of her dark hair and looks at him and it’s a little unnerving, how she’s looking like she’s completely willing to give him all her attention. But then, suddenly, she looks at the clock on the wall and mutters something under her breath. “Sorry,” she says again. “I’m in such a rush today. Sammy here really hates storms like this so getting out of the house was tough. I really hope you still have space for one more dog today.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods. His head moves all on its own. Years later he still won’t be able to say why he nodded. He won’t be able to tell you why he didn’t put two and two together and tell this beautiful woman that she actually wants the doggy daycare across the street. He doesn’t know why, instead he just nods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh thank goodness!” She smiles again, it’s even brighter this time, and what he can only describe as relief floods over her. Her shoulders relax and she takes in a deep breath. “How much is it again?” She asks, reaching into her large shoulder bag for her wallet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, it’s $20 for the day.” He doesn’t know where his voice came from, finally, or why he answered at all. He really will never know the answers for why he gives her a price. It isn’t like he meant to lie to this woman, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tess -- </span>
  </em>
  <span>he repeats her name in his head, loving the way it sounds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She raises her eyebrows in question and he isn’t sure if $20 is too high, or too low for a day of dog watching. He’s afraid she’s going to realize this is in fact not the doggy daycare and immediate leave, but she pulls a twenty from her wallet and hands it to him. “Thank you, so very much.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods again, swallowing the lump that’s formed in his throat. “Samson will have a great time,” he says. And it really is like he’s been invaded by someone or something else, the words coming out of his mouth not really seeming like his own. He bends down and holds out his hand in front of the dog, letting him sniff his fingers and nuzzle into his palm before he pets him on the head. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Samson is a good boy. He waits patiently at the door next to Morgan, watching Tessa’s form retreating into the rain soaked Toronto streets. Morgan is clutching the clipboard with the never used sign in sheet that Rachel thought would be a good idea to implement (for which Morgan has never been more grateful). Right before Tessa turned to leave she seemed to realize something was amiss and Morgan was afraid that she would immediately realize he was a fraud and take her dog and leave. </p>
<p>“Uh, should I leave my contact information or something?” Tessa toyed with the sleeve of her rain jacket. “I’ve never left him at a doggy daycare.” </p>
<p>“Oh,” Morgan’s eyes widened. “Uh yeah. Of course.” He’d looked around for something for her to write her information on, something that might seem semi-professional. As he glanced around the entryway he remembered the sign-in sheet that Rachel had made to be left by the front door. It was an ill conceived attempt to keep track of potential visitors and have their appropriate contacts. It never took off, there are maybe 4 names on it and it always sits on a little table under the half wall with a pen. </p>
<p>Morgan quickly grabbed the pen and clipboard, his body still acting on autopilot, handing them to Tess. She smiled at him, breathing another sigh of relief, as she scribbled down her information. Once she had been satisfied that he had all the information he may need she gave Samson one last pet and a longing look before heading back out into the rain. </p>
<p>Samson doesn’t move to go after her, he does however give Morgan a confused look as Morgan reads and reads the sign-in sheet. Tessa Virtue. She’s Tessa Virtue. And he has her phone number… and her dog. </p>
<p>Samson follows right at Morgan’s side as he heads back around the dividing wall and back into the small newsroom. Before he’s even fully rounded the corner he can see Gillian and Rachel both leaping up from their chairs. </p>
<p>“What the actual fuck, Mo!” Gillian’s face is already red, looking exasperated before Morgan has even had a chance to say anything. </p>
<p>“Did you steal someone’s dog?” Rachel says, as Henrietta returns to her side after sniffing curiously at Samson, a favour Samson returns. </p>
<p>“No! I did not steal him,” Morgan can feel his cheeks heating up. “This is Samson, he’s Tessa Virtue’s dog.” </p>
<p>“You mean Tessa Virtue, the dancer?” Rachel swivels excitedly in her chair. </p>
<p>“Former dancer,” Gillian says, with just a hint of a frown. “She retired after her last injury.” </p>
<p>“Okay,” Rachel shrugs. “But more importantly, why the fuck does Mo have her dog?” </p>
<p>“It was really a misunderstanding,” Morgan shrugs. “I think, because the dogs followed me to the door, she thought this was the Doggy Daycare across the street.” </p>
<p>“So you just took her dog?” </p>
<p>“No.” Morgan ducks his head as he tries to make his way back to his desk. “She paid me twenty dollars and left her contact information.” </p>
<p>“You’re an idiot.” Rachel says.</p>
<p>Gillian nods. </p>
<p>He really, probably, is the biggest idiot. But… “She had to realize this isn’t a doggy daycare? There’s no sign or anything. She has to know.” </p>
<p>“Maybe she’s just as ridiculous are you.” Sheldon has poked his head out from his office, having overheard the conversation. </p>
<p>Morgan shakes his heads No, he thinks, she was wonderful. He thinks about how she smiled at him and then at her dog right before she left. There was something so soft, and light, like a feather slowly floating down to earth on a gentle breeze, in the fondness of her gaze. “I’ll see you both at four,” she’d said. </p>
<p>“You better take real good care of that dog.” </p>
<p>As if on cue, Samson nuzzles into his hand, his cold nose butting up against Morgan’s palm. Looking for some attention, or aware that they’re discussion him and his human. The dog looks satisfied when Morgan scratches behind his ear. </p>
<p>“Do you want a treat?” He sees Samson’s ears twitch at the mention of a treat. The dog immediately sits and puts out a paw, waiting for a shake. It makes Morgan smile and he acts quickly to grab a treat from his desk, not wanting to keep the dog waiting. “We’re going to have a great day,” he tells Samson, after a quick shake a paw, while the dog eats his treat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p>It’s during a much needed break, after several hours of choreo run throughs, damp with sweat and massaging her sore legs, that Tessa gets a text from the doggy day care guy. </p>
<p>The message is a simple Hi this is Morgan. The guy with your dog, just in case you needed to get in touch. It makes her smile. She thinks the extra touch is nice. There’s something sweet about being able to directly contact the staff member handling her dog. Also, she, hates to admit it, he was cute. She hasn’t dated a man in a while, but she definitely (even in their very brief meeting) was endeared to this one. </p>
<p>First, Samson took to him immediately. As friendly as Sam is, he tends to be wary around men the first time he meets them. Tessa was told by the humane society workers that they believed this to be because the son of his last owner was a large man with a very loud, commanding presence, who did not like dogs. Morgan -- it’s nice to have a name to the face now -- isn’t like that. He’s tall, and definitely well built but he has a quiet, calm demeanor. She liked how red his cheeks flushed when he looked at her, before looking to the ground in an attempt to compose himself. Normally that would make her uncomfortable in her own skin -- that her appearance alone would make someone blush-- but she found it kind of cute, how he stumbled over his words, mostly just nodding to her questions. Blushing frequently when he looked her in the eyes. It made her feel powerful. </p>
<p>Second, there is just something about his eyes. She saw a kind of transparency in them. Like the crystalline waters, reflecting the blue sky, on the calmest of days out on the lake at her family cottage. Just looking at his eyes, looking at her, she felt beautiful and safe. She shakes her head, because that seems like a ridiculous thing to feel from someone she literally just met. It’s just been such a very long time since someone has looked at her with such wonder and awe and it made her feel a stirring somewhere deep inside her. </p>
<p>And finally, there was something about the tone of his voice, even as he stumbled over his words, getting tongue tied as she tried to talk to him that soothed her. Something a little low and scratchy about it. The way it kind of matched the scruffy, strawberry blonde stubble that lined his jaw. Something about it made her want to talk with him more. To hear what he sounds like when he gets really passionate about something, the excited lilt he might take on, or how it would sound low and sweet in her ear.</p>
<p>And now, she has his number. She could. She could call him, just to tell him she got his text and check in on how Samson is doing. As extremely illogical as it sounds, she thinks that hearing his voice, hearing him tell her what her precious pup has been up to, would soothe the ache in her calves, the burning feeling that runs down the hard line of her shins and the numbness in her toes. </p>
<p>But she can’t. She won’t. She isn’t going to fall for the doggy daycare guy. Not going to happen. </p>
<p>She can’t be rude though, and leave his message unanswered. So she texts him. </p>
<p>Thanks Morgan. I hope Samson isn’t giving you too much trouble. -Tessa. </p>
<p>She doesn’t hear back from him, which she knows is probably a good thing. He’s meant to be working, to be taking care of her dog and likely several others. That doesn’t stop the slight pang she feels when she’s leaving the studio and sees her message is unanswered. It’s not like she imagined striking up a text conversation with the doggy daycare guy while in the middle of doing choreography for a pair of well known and highly respected dancers. No, she waited for water breaks and the few times she had to stop to rest her aching legs. </p>
<p>After changing back into her street clothes she takes a deep breath, dispelling her irrational thoughts about flirting with Morgan. She shakes her head, then her shoulders down to her fingers, then her legs down to her toes -- an old habit from years of performing and shaking out her pre performance jitters that she’s adopted into her everyday life years ago. She’s being irrational, likely because she’s stressed and after two years is finally starting to feel the pangs of loneliness of not being in a close relationship that she’d taken for granted for years. But, she’s never felt as endeared so quickly to another human -- just to Samson, knowing the moment she saw him that he was meant to be her dog. Not that she believes she’s meant to be with dog guy, but she felt an instant warmth toward him, like he was meant to be in her life in some way. </p>
<p>Instead of thinking about all that, she retraces her steps from the studio to the place she dropped Samson off at earlier. It’s not raining anymore, but the humidity hangs hot and heavy in the air. She keeps her head down as she walks to avoid puddles and is surprised by how quickly she seems to arrive, pushing open the door and stepping into the entryway and taking a deep breath. </p>
<p>Samson is rushing around the corner, followed by Morgan, before she even has a chance to call out. Samson stops and sits right at her feet, his tail thumping against the floor, waiting for her to pet him. She runs her hand through his thick fur on top of his head. Samson the turns his head to Morgan, tilting it and letting his tongue loll out, as if he is asking Morgan for a pet too. </p>
<p>“He’s such a great dog,” is the first thing Morgan says. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” she smiles, because really he is the best dog and it makes her a touch proud when other people think so too. </p>
<p>Morgan runs his hand through his hair and looks down at his feet, scuffing the toes of his sneakers across the floor. It makes her smile. She can tell by the way he carries himself that he isn’t normally a shy person, but has this kind of boyish charm. He looks younger than he may be, too. Because of the roundness in his cheeks and the sweet way he smiles a little lopsidedly at her when he catches her watching him. It’s completely irrational how it makes her heart flutter, it makes her feel like a teenager again when she had her first crush. She wants to feel like this again.</p>
<p>“Can I drop him off again on Friday?”</p>
  </div></div>
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